


Tea and Scones

by runawaygypsy



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, actor!tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy





	Tea and Scones

I woke up at the break of dawn, stretched and sat up on the side of the bed. I could hear a bit of traffic outside my window, a sound I was not yet accustomed to, having recently been transferred to London. The company I worked for was based in the United States, Seattle to be precise, but when this position had opened up, I jumped at the chance. London was a place I had dreamed of living. It seemed everything I ever wanted to do or see revolved around England in some way, shape or form and getting the transfer had been a dream come true. 

There had been some compromises, however. I was used to sleeping in and had found that my colleagues at the London office were all early-risers. The house I had lived in when I worked in Seattle was in the suburbs, center spot on a cul-de-sac road that saw little traffic and was more likely to have the peal of childrens' laughter than the squeal of tires. The novelty of London was not wearing off on me, though. I adored that the streets were always busy, that the people I had met thus far had been friendly, that I could travel anywhere in minutes via the Tube. Even my little flat, though smaller than my house in the states, seemed cozier and had its own sense of charm.

Today, I had the day off and I had decided I would go for a quick run around Kensington Gardens, one of my favorite parks, and the closest to my flat. I changed into a pair of hot-pink thin sweat pants, a nondescript black t-shirt and a black hoodie, topping off the ensemble with a pair of blue and gray trainers. My hair was a bit unruly, so I tied it back with an elastic as I devoured a granola bar, a banana and a glass of water. Before I left the house, I made a point to grab my cell phone, my sport ear buds and shove a small change purse into the pocket of my hoodie, anticipating a cool-off cup of tea at the cafe down the street after my run.

The streets were nowhere near as crowded at this early hour, most of the cacophony caused by actual cars and buses rather than people. I waved to the old woman who ran the newspaper shop as she swept the doorway clean. She always greeted me with a warm smile and a scone when I visited her. She reminded me of my grandmother back home and she had told me the first day we met that I reminded her of her granddaughter. She mouthed something to me that I read as something akin to, “Have fun, dear,” but I couldn't hear her on account of the headphones that were already filling my ears with music.

I took up a slight gait as I jogged down the sidewalks, preferring to use more of my speed once I actually got to the park. It was only four blocks from my flat and I was there in no time. Usually, when I ran there, I had a tendency to get distracted, ending up with more of a walk than a run, as I liked to observe people and things, watching the world unfold around me. I vowed to actually run today and pulled out my phone to switch it to my workout play list, which consisted of mostly music like Pendulum, Bassnecter, The Pixies, The Doors and a few single songs that I found motivating. As the first few notes began to play, I hit the path and picked up speed.

For the first eight songs, I ran wonderfully, keeping a steady pace, concentrating on nothing but the freedom I felt as the wind caressed my cheeks and the ground hit my feet. I saw other people running past me and for a brief second with each, we waved at each other and then moved on. I found strength in my resolve to avoid distraction and I plugged along.

45 minutes into my run, I became slightly winded and thirsty. I glanced around at my surroundings and spied a water fountain, or bubbler, so I went to take a drink. As the cold water rolled down my throat in refreshing waves, another song started. I was fairly over running at that moment, but my legs threatened to cramp up if I stopped moving. Making sure nobody was watching me, for fear of seeming the fool, I began dancing to the song, motivating myself to move back down the path, to pick up the pace. As I hopped along and flailed my arms, I saw someone run around the bend in the path and begin heading towards me, so I stopped dancing. In a brief moment of panic, I leaned over and feigned rubbing a cramp out of my calf. The runner passed by me in a flash and I was free to dance again, but, for fear of anyone else seeing me, I decided to walk it out the rest of the way.

I was tired but happy by the time I got to the cafe. As I entered, the woman behind the counter recognized me. “It's good to see you again,” she smiled, “Would you like your usual?”

“Yes, please,” I answered, taking a table in the center of the room. For me, the usual was a cup of Earl Grey tea with a squeeze of lemon and a blueberry scone on the side. While I waited for my food, I pulled out my phone and began checking my messages. There were several on Facebook from the friends and family I had left behind that were wishing me luck, saying how much they missed me, asking how my new job was. It brought tears to my eyes. By the time my tea and scone were ready, my eyes were rimmed red and my nose slightly runny. “Can I get a tissue?” I asked as I went up to the counter to get them.

“Don't be sad,” the woman soothed, “You've got an adventure.”

I smiled back at her, “I know so few people here, I miss my family and friends.”

“You'll make new friends,” she winked. She seemed so comforting and sympathetic that I couldn't help but believe her.

I sat back down with my order and turned the Kindle app on my phone on, navigating to the bookmark of the book I had been reading. As I sat absorbing the words of Shakespeare, I heard the bell on the cafe door tinkle, but the sound dissolved into my thoughts, so I was oblivious of anyone else entering the cafe until a man stopped in front of my table. “You were just running in the park, weren't you?” he said.

“Yep,” I answered, my mouth full of scone. I looked straight ahead and followed long legs clad in black sweats up to a gray hoodie and finally his smiling face. Standing in front of me was someone who I was not unfamiliar with, an actor that I had devoured every piece of work of, respected immensely and happened to find the most beautiful creature on God's green Earth. I nearly choked on my scone. “You're...” I tried to get out, the scone crumbs finding their way into my airway.

His hand flew out of his hoodie pocket to slap me on the back, dislodging the errant crumbs. “Have a sip of tea, it'll help get that out of your throat,” he said gently.

I followed his instructions, taking a bit more than a sip of my tea and letting myself recuperate from a near-accidental death. “Thanks for that,” I said. My eyes widened again as he took a seat at the table across from me.

“Are you going to be alright?” he asked. “I'd really hate for you to choke to death on my account.” There was a distinct twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes and even more in his devilish smile.

Nodding, I attempted to say his name again. “You're Tom Hiddleston,” I whispered nearly inaudibly. I could feel my face begin to burn as my cheeks flushed.

“I guess I'm beyond introduction, then,” he laughed. “Shall I just call you 'Girl from the park'?”  
I shook my head vehemently and, still whispering, introduced myself. It took me a moment to remember my own name, which made him laugh even more. 

The woman at the counter spied him and greeted him. “Hello, Tom.” she said, “Your usual today?”

He looked up at her. “Hello, Agnes, yes, please.”

Agnes nodded. “I'm sorry, but we seem to be out of biscuits this morning, would you like a scone? They're fresh.”

Tom looked at my plate and then at me. “Are the scones any good?” he asked seriously.

“They're delicious,” I answered.

Turning his attention back to Agnes, he smiled, “I would love a scone.”

At this point, I had somewhat recovered from our rough introduction and was in the process of finishing my scone when he said, “I saw you dancing in the park. You have some great dance moves.”

Trying hard not to have a repeat incident with my scone, I made sure to swallow my bite and take a sip of tea before answering him. “Oh, god, you saw that?” I asked, feeling the flush rise up in my cheeks again.

“I also saw you try to play it off as a leg cramp,” he stated, amused at my response. 

An alarm bell went off in my head. He had been the runner that flew past me. Had I not been so self-conscious, I would have seen him. I mentally berated myself for a moment, then said, “I was hoping nobody saw that.”

“I don't mind,” he shrugged, “The more dancing the better. I would have actually joined you.” Then, spying the words on my phone, asked, “What are you reading.”

I pushed the button to turn the phone screen off. “'Much Ado About Nothing',” I answered, fully aware of his thoughts on Shakespeare.

Tom's face lit up. “My favorite!” he gushed, “What do you think of it so far?”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, “I love it as well. In fact, this is the tenth time I've read it. I also adore the movie, but there’s just something about the written word.”

He was suddenly like a large puppy dog ready to pounce on me as his plaything. “You've seen the movie? Do you know, I worked with Ken Brannagh on a few projects. He's an amazing actor and a wonderful man.” I was afraid Tom was about to start reciting lines, when Agnes drew his attention away so he could get his order. “I'll be right back,” he said, standing from the table.

When he returned, he set his food down on the table and sat back down, straddling the chair. “So, I can tell you're American by your accent. What brings you to London?” he asked.

As I answered, telling him about the circumstances, I could feel those blue eyes just looking into my soul. I got a little teary again when I mentioned the messages I had read that morning and by the time I was done telling him about my family, I was a sobbing mess. “I love it here,” I said in between sobs, “But I really miss my family. I even miss my evil cat.”

His face was full of concern. “Your evil cat?” he said, cocking his eyebrows at me.

“Yes,” I sniffled, “She would have had to be in quarantine for months and she's old. I don't think she would have survived, so she's living with my parents now.” I showed him a picture of her on my phone.

“She looks sweet,” he said calmly.

I snorted. “Don't let the face fool you. She'd rather shred you than let you pet her.” I held up a scarred forearm as evidence.

“Do you know anyone here, besides colleagues?” he asked, grabbing a hold of my hand. His hands were soft and warm, sending tingles along my spine.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

He smiled again, genuinely, not the devilish smile he'd had before. “Do you have any plans tonight?” 

“Not unless you count dressing in my pajamas and watching the telly,” I said, trying my hardest to navigate British colloquialisms. 

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me?” 

My heart fluttered, and I blinked. “Yes, I would,” I managed, my voice nearly caught in my throat.

“That's wonderful!” he exclaimed. He gave me his phone number and I texted my address to him. “You live just around the corner from me.”

We sat and talked for a while longer, mostly about Tom's favorite subject, Shakespeare, until we noticed the time. I had laundry to wash and Tom had a meeting to attend, so we hugged on the sidewalk and went out separate ways for the day.

 

I had just stepped out of the shower and was in the process of blow-drying my hair when a loud series of knocks came from my front door. “I'll be a minute,” I yelled, glancing at the clock and noticing the time. It was 7:30. I hoped it was one of my neighbors, not Tom getting there early. I slipped into my fuzzy bathrobe and a pair of slippers and made my way to the door. Opening it, I saw that it was Tom, holding a bouquet of Gerber daisies. “I'm so sorry I'm early,” he apologized upon seeing my state of dress.

“It's alright,” I shrugged, “I'm in the process of getting ready. I'll be ready soon. Feel free to have a seat on the sofa, or you can put on some music if you'd like.”

“Alright,” I heard him answer as I headed back towards my bedroom. I had decided on wearing a black skirt with a blue blouse, along with a pair of black heels that I saved for special occasions. Seeing as how Tom had arrived in a button-down and a suit jacket, I was happy with my decision. I got dressed and accessorized the ensemble with a diamond choker my parents had bought for me on my 16th birthday, a pair of diamond studs, and a tennis bracelet. 

I headed into the bathroom and began applying make-up, only to hear the familiar music of Frank Sinatra begin wafting through my flat. I smiled, finished my eyes and headed back out to find Tom dancing by himself in the living room. “I see you found something to your liking on my iPod,” I observed.

Tom grinned and took my hand. “You have wonderful taste in music,” he purred as he swung me into the middle of the living room, then caught me in his arms as he swung me back. It was not an inherently slow song, but, once he had me in his arms, he was reluctant to let me go. He turned me around to face him and I reached up as high as I could in an attempt to wrap my arms around his neck. Together, we moved, synchronized to the music, feeling the tones of the tune as it moved through us. 

As the first song ended and the second began, this time Billie Holiday, I looked into Tom's eyes and found that he was gazing tenderly at me. I closed my eyes, letting my eyelashes flutter softly as I did, only to feel his soft lips land on mine and kiss me gently. “Is that alright?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Yes,” was all I could manage.

“That's good, because a woman like you deserves to be kissed, and often.” He kissed me again, this time more insistently. I snaked my fingers into his curls and held him there, feeling his lips move against mine and finally his tongue as it nudged my lips apart. He groaned as I cocked my head more to the side and moved my hands down to his back, pulling his body closer to mine.

His hands moved a little lower, grasping my rear, squeezing, making me squeal. He withdrew his kiss and said huskily, “I think we should get to dinner before we don't.”

Standing down, I agreed, “Yeah, we probably should.”

I brushed back my bangs from my forehead and began to move away from him, but he grabbed my arm before I could get too far away from him. “We'll continue this later,” he whispered as he curled me back into his arms and smashed his lips into mine one last time. 

I grabbed my purse while he turned off the music and we left my flat with our arms around each other. He escorted me to his car, a Jaguar, and opened the passenger door for me. As I slid into the passenger seat, I inhaled the scent of Tom's cologne and leather. He got into the driver's seat and we sped away, down the city streets. 

The restaurant was only a few minutes away and we were there in no time. Tom parked the car, got out, walked around to my side of the car and helped me out. “I hope you like Italian,” he smiled.

“I love it!” I exclaimed, smiling back at him and kissing him softly as I stood up. 

Tom wrapped his arm around me protectively and lead me to the front door, opening it for me. As we approached the Maitre'D, he checked in. “We have reservations, under Hiddleston.” The man checked us in and showed us to our table, a private booth in the candle-lit back corner. We slid in and sat side by side. “I had them reserve us a private table,” he said, leaning close to me, “I didn't think you would mind.” 

“Not at all,” I answered, “Makes it more romantic.” I batted my eyelashes at him, and smiled seductively, and immediately felt his hand move up my thigh. I reciprocated placing my own hand on his upper thigh, squeezing just slightly. When he scooted his hand up, I moved mine. I'm not sure where we would have stopped had out waiter not approached.

“Hello,” he introduced himself, “My name is Dave and I'll be your waiter tonight. May I start you off with an appetizer?”

Tom and I simultaneously answered, “Calamari,” and erupted in a fit of giggles. The waiter left to get our appetizer while we were still cracking up.

“Jinx,” I proclaimed through my laughter, “You owe me a soda!”

Tom stopped laughing and looked confused. “What?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at me.

“It's just something we say back home,” I explained.

He got a devilish look on his face and moved the hand I had forgotten was on my thigh so it was resting between my legs. “I owe you more than that,” he growled in my ear. The placement of his hand and the tone of his voice were enough to create a knot of heat in my core that spread to my nether regions. I gasped and adjusted in my seat, causing his hand to brush against my panties. Upon feeling the moisture that had formed there, he shook his head, groaned, and kissed me deeply.

Ever the one for timing, Dave, our waiter reappeared and cleared his throat loudly, ending our passionate PDA. He set a plate of calamari on the table along with a small bowl of marinara sauce. “Have you thought about what you would like to eat?” he asked disdainfully.

Tom glanced down at his menu and back at me. I shrugged. We hadn't even discussed what we were ordering. In a knee-jerk reaction, he answered, “Spaghetti and meatballs.” He glanced back at me and I nodded.

“And to drink?”

“Moscato?” Another glance another nod.

“Very well, then, I'll return shortly with your drinks.” Dave turned on his heels and headed back into the kitchen.

“I guess we've been bad when the waiter feels the need to warn us when he'll be back,” Tom snickered. 

“You think so?” I sneered, sneaking a smooch on the cheek.

The next time the waiter appeared, we both stuck our hands on the table like a pair of guilty kids. He brought our drinks, as well as our dinner and the rest of our meal was spent slurping down spaghetti noodles, noshing meatballs and sipping wine while sharing childhood stories and giggling like schoolkids. 

By the time we left, we were more than a little silly. Tom made the decision to leave his Jag in the parking garage and we hailed a cab back to my flat.

I had stuffed my keys into my purse and had a hard time fishing them out on account of Tom groping me and kissing the back of my neck. Each brush of his lips made me moan and made my legs weak. As the door opened, we crashed through it, landing on the floor. Tom landed right between my legs and took advantage of the situation, grinding his pelvis against me. One of my neighbors happened to walk past at that moment and gasped, covering her eyes and hurrying on her way.

We laughed as we got up from the floor, but the minute the door was closed and the lock secure, Tom had me up against the wall, me held by the wrists by only one of his large hands while the other ripped at my blouse, sending the delicate buttons flying. He was face to face with me, his eyes communicating hunger, desire, animal instinct. He kissed me again, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, dancing with mine and then his teeth catching my lower lip. His mouth tasted like garlic and wine, a heady combination. I moaned as he moved from my lips to my collarbone and up to the vein in my neck, while his hand delved into the front of my skirt and into my panties, resting next to my folds. 

“Oh,” he growled, “I see you are wet for me already.” 

I answered in sighs and rose up against him, a non-verbal plea for him to slide those fingers inside me. He obliged, sliding one into my sex, brushing it against my clitoris, circling it, each touch adding to the fire that brewed inside me. As he slid the finger back more, entering me, pushing up against my most tender spot, my hips bucked and my breathing began to get ragged. “Do you like that?” he whispered gruffly. “Perhaps I should stop.” He withdrew from me and all I could manage was a pleading mewl. 

He smiled again, his mischief showing, and let go of my arms, letting them fall to my side. He grasped my skirt and my panties and in one fell swoop pulled them both down around my ankles. Grasping my hips, he knelt down in front of me, nuzzling his nose into my nether region, lapping his tongue against my folds, eliciting a whole new sensation. I grabbed his hair, holding him against me, whimpering as each wave of pleasure washed over me. As I approached my peak, he stopped. “It's not time for that,” he said, standing up.

I pulled his jacket from his shoulders, ripped open his shirt and began licking his bare chest as my hands fumbled with the fastenings on his pants. When they were released, I pulled them down around his ankles, coming face to face with his throbbing manhood. I took the tip of it into my mouth, playing with the head by flicking it with my tongue, then maneuvered to attempt to take his entirety into my mouth. Sadly, I failed miserably at this as he hit the back of my throat and triggered my gag reflex. Instead of giving up, I withdrew slightly, placed my hand around the remaining length and began moving it in rhythm to my mouth. Tom groaned and grabbed my hair, directing me. I could feel the muscles twitch and pulled away from him. 

He groaned in protest as I pulled him silently towards the bedroom and then pushed him on the bed. I crawled on top of him and slid myself down on his cock, slowly easing him in, letting myself stretch to his size. When he was fully sheathed, I let out a moan, feeling the tip of him hitting my sweet spot. Tom held onto my hips and gazed into my eyes as I began to rock against him. For each movement I made, I could feel him rise up and thrust even further into me, hitting the spot again and again until I was screaming his name, writhing against him, letting each orgasmic wave wash over me. As I leaned forward, breathless and sweating, he kissed me and flipped us both over, bringing my legs up over his shoulders. He began thrusting even more forcefully, each one bringing me one step closer to another orgasm. I could tell he was close and as my walls clenched against him, felt him twitch as he began to come, both of us moaning in rhythm, undulating, quavering, until we collapsed together in a heap.

As we regained our breath, Tom slid off and laid down beside me, wrapping his arm around me. “I hope you don't mind if I stay the night,” he mumbled. 

I rolled to embrace him. “Not at all,” I answered, “Maybe we can have an encore performance later?”

He smiled sleepily. “And in the morning, we can go down to the cafe and get tea and scones.”


End file.
